Of Griffon's, Magic, and Injury
by Lenle.G
Summary: Arthur and Merlin are out a simple hunting trip, when they are attacked by a Griffon. Merlin is forced to use magic to save Arthur, and he is injured in the process. What will Arthur do when his friend/sorcerer/friend is fighting for his very life?
1. Chapter 1

Of Griffon's, Magic, and Injury

Chapter One

_Merlin._

_Merlin had... magic?_

_What?_

He didn't want to believe it, but here was the evidence, the proof, right in front of his eyes. Merlin, his idiotic, bumbling, injured servant was using... Magic.

The griffon, rearing up before Arthur, about the strike the killing blow on the undefended prince, roared in agony as the spell hit it from the side in a rush of flames and light. Merlin was on his feet again, palm outstretched, eyes golden. There was a jagged rip in his thin shirt, a horrible red colour seeping into the blue fabric at an alarming rate. The heat of the spell was so close to Arthur's face that it singed his skin, and his sword lay four feet away from him, sticking up out of the ground where it was ripped from his grip. His shoulder hurt, the armour there bent, and the skin below bruised but not broken. The body of the griffon crashed to the ground, limp and unresponsive. _When had this simple hunting trip gone so wrong?_ Arthur found himself wondering, staring across at the figure of his swaying friend. The gold colour faded from Merlin's eyes, revealing a startling, terrified blue that locked with his own eyes before Merlin's slid closed (a crime, surely to hide such a beautiful colour?) and the exposed warlock tumbled to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs.

"Merlin!"

Arthur stumbled over to the small, fallen figure, well aware the boy had just saved his life. One blow from those claws and he would have been cleaved in half. But Merlin... Merlin...

The boy was deathly white, his skin contrasting horribly with his dark hair. His breath came in short, pained wheezes and...

Arthur pressed both hands of the wound, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. _Why?_ Said a little voice in the back of his head. _Why are you helping a sorcerer? Magic is evil_._ Magic is evil. Merlin must be evil._ It said. Arthur pushed it aside, to the very back of his mind. He was not thinking about this now, not when Merlin, his servant, his friend, was lying on the ground, bleeding his very life-blood into the dirt. But somehow, he couldn't imagine the boy as evil at all. He was a complete idiot, for crying out loud.

His hands still covering the wound, Arthur pulled the boy's limp body into his arms. Merlin's head lolled weakly onto Arthur's uninjured shoulder, and his mouth hung open slightly as he gasped for breath.

Staring down at Merlin's terribly white face, he found himself remembering how they'd got into this mess.

They had been hunting. Caught a deer. Well... Arthur had been hunting he'd just dragged Merlin along, because he knew how much it annoyed the boy, as a sort of punishment for forgetting to clean his boots his morning. And Arthur had wanted to. They'd been riding back, Arthur insisting they go the shortest way possible. But Merlin wasn't sure, he said these parts of the woods were said to be dangerous. Arthur knew that too, but he'd laughed and called Merlin a coward, riding on boldly through the unfamiliar terrain. No-one in their right mind would go in this part of the forest. Merlin had said. No-one ever did. And then the griffon had come out of nowhere, tearing the carcass of the deer from the back of Merlin's horse, knocking the boy off, and making the mare bolt off into the woods. Arthur had watched Merlin fall in what felt like slow-motion, as he yelled his friends name and drew his sword.

The griffon had been quick, Arthur remembered. Arthur had leapt of his horse, and Merlin had been struggling up off the ground, fighting for a standing position, breathing heavily – pained gasps, confused and disorientated from his fall, when the griffon, its jaws locked around the body of the deer, lashed out towards the boy. Arthur had been running towards him, sword in hand, when the powerful blow from the griffon caught the servant across his chest. The sharpened claws ripped into the soft flesh of his chest. The boy was thrown backwards by the force of the blow. He hit a tree, head snapping backwards, a terrible look of fear and pain plastered across his features, before his fragile body crumpled as easily as paper, and he slumped down into the relentlessly black world of unconscious. The griffon had its back turned; looking away from the prince, stalking towards the limp figure at the base of the tree. It dropped the body of the deer. It had found a better, defenceless, tastier meal. With a roar that may or may not have resembled Merlin's name, Arthur swung his blade at the hide of the griffon, and howling with pain, the beast whipped round, its powerful paws ripping the sword from his hands and landing a glancing blow to his armoured shoulder. The prince was thrown backwards, onto the leaf-moulded ground. His breathing suddenly didn't work quite right, an intense pain throbbed in his shoulder, his vision wavering. The beast turned towards him, stalking it's new pray. Arthur forced himself upright. His sword was out of reach. His vision sharpened. The griffon was raising a gigantic paw. Ready to rip him in half. And then it was falling. And there was a scorching heat beside him. And Merlin was standing, yelling words in a language Arthur did not understand, eyes filled with rage and power, and the gold glint... of magic.

Magic.

The griffon was dead now. And Merlin limp in his arms, life blood all over his hands. He had to get the boy back to Camalot, back to Gaius. He didn't know enough of medicine to heal... something like this. Merlin's shirt around the gashes was in ribbons; Arthur tore them further apart to see the damage fully. Cursing, Arthur pulled the damaged armour off over his head, wincing as shots of pain laced through his shoulder. He ripped his undershirt into strips, and tied them together in a make-shift bandage, wrapping them gently, but firmly around his friend's chest. Merlin shivered. Arthur frowned, the expression darkening the wrinkles of worry on his forehead. Merlin shivered again. He pressed a bloodied hand to Merlin's forehead, wincing at the heat radiating from the boy. He had a fever, already, and there was blood seeping, thick and hot, through the make-shift bandage. Curing again, Arthur wrapped his cloak carefully around the boy, and fetched his own horse (Merlin's was nowhere to be seen), and hefted the limp boy into the saddle. Arthur clambered up behind him, slipping his hands either side of the shaking boy, to hold the reins, and his friend, steady. Merlin's body lay limply against his chest, and his head lolled against his uninjured shoulder. Every wheezing, short, pained breath Merlin took became like a life-line of Arthur as they rode wildly though the forest. Arthur listened to each gasp, praying another would follow. His heart pounded and throbbed in his ribcage as he drove his horse faster, faster.

"Merlin?" He would ask at regular intervals, only to be met by the awful, unresponsive silence. Horrible, terrible, cruel silence.

Faster, Faster.

He wrapped one arm around Merlin's waist, holding him tightly to him as his friend body was wracked with shivers; he could feel Merlin's heartbeat fluttering weakly in the boy's chest. Like the wings of a hummingbird. But it was there.

Was it enough?

It had to be.

Faster, Faster.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The towers of Camelot came into view, and all that was left for Arthur to do was the mad dash towards the gates. The guards shot him a shocked look when he rode back into Camelot, armour missing, covered in blood, a limp servant boy cradled against his chest.

He shouted to the guards for help. Ordered them to run and tell Gaius to prepare. To tell him he was bringing Merlin. To tell him... it was bad. They helped him down from the horse, steadying Merlin, before the boy was pulled, bridal style into the prince's arms. He ran to the physician's quarters, bursting into the room, shouting for the old man. Gaius took one look at the limp, bloodied form of the boy he'd come to love as his own son in Arthur's arms and paled terribly. Arthur laid Merlin on the patient's bed, his head lolled to the side, mouth parted. Gaius was pulling the make-shift bandages away, and then was cleaning the horrific gashes on his wards chest. Blood bubbled around the cloth he pressed to them. Merlin lay, limp and unresponsive to even the pain. Arthur wondered if that was a good thing or not.

"Arthur. What happened?" Gaius fixed him with a firm stare, fear for his wards life blossoming within his eyes.

"A griffon. It attacked us... and I... I..." That's when Arthurs knees gave out and he slumped, exhausted to the floor. He nodded to Gaius in indication he was alright, and the old man turned to press a clean pad to the gashes on the Merlin's chest.

"These are deep Arthur. I don't think..."

Merlin took another shuddering breath. They were fewer now, less frequent. His pale frame sprawled unresponsively on the bed, as the old man tended to his chest.

Each breath shuddered Merlin's whole frame, his parted lips open in a silent plea for oxygen. The boy's ribs jutted out, frail and white against the taught skin - each gasp stretched the skin tight like a drum as they rose and fell. It was mottled with shades of blue and red and bruises that blossomed in horrible patterns across his torso from the original fall, weaving into the shape of the bloodied gashes. The skin was shiny and dripping with beads of sweat as the boy tried to fight for his very life. It pooled above his collar bones and on his brow. Merlin had begun to shiver as if terribly cold, but his skin burned hot and sticky with the raging fever. Gaius was now wrapping thick swathes of bandages around the fragile chest, careful fingers tucking and pulling on the white cloth.

"Merlin" Arthur spoke in an exhale, so soft he barely heard himself as he pulled a chair towards Merlin's bedside. Gaius handed him a cloth and a shallow basin of water, and turned away to peer at a row of little bottles and herbs on a shelf. Arthur stared at the objects in his hands for a moment, before asking: "What do I do?"

Gaius turned back towards him, and with one eyebrow cynically raised, mimed dipping a cloth into water and laying it onto a virtual forehead. Should figure the crown prince wouldn't know how to care for a boy with a fever.

Footsteps now. Running. And then Gwen was there, fussing over Merlin, tucking blankets around him at Gaius's command, as Arthur watched from his seat. She must have heard from the guards, Arthur supposed. Her face was lined with creases of worry, and she offered to fetch more, cool water from the well to dip the cloth in. At Gaius's nod she scurried off, leaving Gaius and Arthur to gently pull Merlin's limp, damaged body into a sitting position, as Gaius pressed a vial of thick, green liquid to the boys lips. At first the liquid trickled out the corner of his mouth, but with a little persuasion by tipping his head backwards, and massaging the lax muscles of his throat, they got Merlin to swallow.

"It will help him with the fever and the pain. It'll help him sleep." Arthur smiled gratefully up at the old man, who gazed sadly down at his ward with fearful eyes as he spoke. "There's nothing more I can do for him, save pray the wound will heal quickly. Merlin always was a fast healer"

Arthur nodded, and the old physician turned away to collect the water from Gwen as she bustled back into the room with the pail in hand. He laced his fingers gently through Merlin's where they poked out from his covers.

"Merlin" He murmured once more.

Merlin was a fast healer Gaius had said. Merlin would heal fast. Right?

He had to.

He just had to.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Uther himself had come down to Gaius's chambers, where the injured boy lay, and his son held a strict vigil. The angry king ranted and raged for a good hour and a half at his son for not reporting to him and other such obscenities, but gave up after realising his son's attention was focused solely on the unresponsive form in the bed. Suddenly he was quite sure Arthur hadn't listened to a word he'd said, so he stalked out again, muttering about the ridiculous idea of staying by the side of a servant. Even if that servant had saved his life.

Gwen visited often, bringing Gaius new herbs to mash into pastes, and clear, cool water to sooth the boy's fiery brow. She smiled gently at him, but he could see the sorrow, hurt and fear in her eyes as she regarded the still form of her friend. Gaius was changing the bandages now, as Gwen stoked the fire. Arthur could see the horrible wounds had begun to heal over, a scab forming from dried blood across Merlin's frail chest. After the wounds had been wrapped, he helped Gaius sit the boy up, and press a vial to his lips, forcing him to drink deeply, even in his state on unconsciousness. There was a moment he thought the boy would choke, and cold, hard fear gripped his chest in an iron fist, but he swallowed painfully under the encouragement of the physician's skilled hands.

His breathing had evened out, but each breath still felt like a terrible lifeline to the prince. Like each breath would be the boys last.

And then it struck him, as he sat there, encased in the tight, painful fear that the boy before him would die –_ why did he care? Merlin had lied to him_; the little voice took the opportunity to remind him. _Why are you sitting with a sorcerer? _It screamed._ Magic is evil_._ Magic is Evil. Merlin must be evil. _But no. That didn't sit right. That couldn't be right. Merlin was about as evil as the potato broth Gaius had just handed him. He looked down at the bowl in his hands, full of the thick, gloopy soup-like substance. Frowning he stirred the gunk with the wooden spoon he was handed – it curdled densely and clung to the back of the spoon in hefty grey clumps.

Ok. Maybe the broth_ was_ pretty evil after all. He bit back a smile, grasping the spoon and bringing it to his mouth. He looked over at Merlin again, white and still on the bed. Each breath for him a herculean effort. No. This boy was not evil. He didn't have it in him to be evil. He was Merlin for god's sake. Merlin – the bumbling, stupid idiotic excuse for a manservant. His manservant. _But he lied to you _– the little voice hissed_. He lied to you._ But Arthur shook his head slowly, to clear it of the thought. What could he have possibly said? 'Oh, hey Arthur. I'm just, you know, a sorcerer by the way. Not that your Father won't chop off my head for it without a second thought or anything.'

Yeah right.

Arthur found his smile grow, and his fingers tightened around the bowl, finishing the terrible cooking quickly, so he could lace Merlin's fingers with his own once more.

He was glad he knew now. But Merlin... Merlin had an awful lot of explaining to do when he woke up.

If he wakes up.

Arthur found himself rubbing absentmindedly at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, the other hand woven into Merlin's.

"You should get some rest, Sire" – it was Gaius; draping a blanket over his shoulders as Gwen changed the cloth on Merlin's brow.

Arthur's gaze rested solely on the whitened face of his manservant, as exhaustion overcame his body and his eyes slipped closed.

The last thing he saw before he fell asleep was the light of the candles on Merlin's face. The last thing he heard was Merlin's breath rattling in his slowly heaving chest. The last thing he felt was Merlin's fingers, laced so perfectly, so tightly in his own.

Was Merlin.

Safe, Alive, Recovering.

And with a sigh of relief – not that the nightmare was over, but that it was on its way to being over. Prince Arthur of Camelot slipped into a calm, well-needed sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

He remembered the nightmare only vaguely. Something to do with Merlin. He distantly remembered the raven's fingers slipping from his grasp. His life slipping away. But then he woke, gasping; panicked and pale, and it took a few well placed calming breaths of his own to reassure himself of the sight that Merlin was still there, his chest still rising and falling, still with his hand still curled into his own.

Still alive.

He reached out a careful hand, and pushed the dark, sweat slicked hair from Merlin's forehead. Resting his palm there, Arthur knew he was still burning up. With a loud sigh, and a "What _am_ I going to do with you Merlin?", he looked around for Gaius.

The old man was sleeping now, in the chair opposite him, on the other side of Merlin's bed. Arthur casually carded his fingers through Merlin's hair, the strands soft and damp as they slipped over his skin. If he still had the fever, Arthur knew he needed a damp cloth to place on his forehead. With one last touch, he drew his hand back and made to stand up. That was the moment Gwen came bustling in, looking tired and worn, depositing a bucket of water by his side, and handing him a cloth. Arthur picked it up, and laced his fingers with Merlin's once more, as he dipped it and lay it on the raven's fevered forehead.

"Sorry, had to get some more cold water, did I wake you?" Arthur shook his head, tightening his grip on Merlin's hand, as if to pull him back into the world via it. Gwen gave him a concerned look, and anxiously hovered by Merlin's side. "He's not looking much better, is he?" She bit her lip.

_No._

No, Merlin was not looking better at all. His skin was white and waxy, a sheen of sweat covering it. His eyes were ringed by dark circles and his hair was plastered to his head in a manner much unlike its usual style. Each breath he took was shallow and shaky and there was blood beginning to seep through his bandages again. They needed replacing. Arthurs exhale became a long sigh.

"He'll get better Gwen, he'll be fine."

Gwen have him her best hopeful smile and moved her hand to cover his where it clutched the pale skeletal form of Merlin's.

Most of the day passed relatively the same as last night. Gaius woke and hovered about with Gwen. Changing bandages, laying cool cloths on Merlin's forehead, and helping him to drink the tinticures Gaius prepared. It was midday when the boy's fever finally broke. And the look of relief of the old physician's face sent waves of hope straight to the young prince's heart.

_Merlin was recovering right?_

But he had still not woken by nightfall. Gaius reassured him it was for the best. His tinitcures contained a sleeping draught, keeping the boy in his comatose state. He was in no pain like this – Gaius said. He would heal better. Faster.

Faster.

_Faster._

Arthur had another nightmare that night, and woke sweating and shaking in his chair, having refused to leave his friends side. His back ached from sitting still for so long. He had been running in the dream running towards something just out of his reach, unsure what he was running for, until he spotted the mop of dark hair and the flash of those blue eyes running just ahead of him. But then Merlin was gone, and he was running alone. And then there was a cliff he never saw and he was falling into wakefulness.

It was only a dream. He reminded himself. Merlin's still here. Still beside him. Still Alive.

Arthur forced his breaths to become even, and his heart to stop pounding, and he looked down at the boy, weak and pale on the bed, and sighed.

Merlin didn't deserve this.

_But he's got magic._

No one deserved this.

"Come on Merlin... get better. Please. You have to get better..."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

It was later that day that Arthur's father had practically ordered him back to his own chambers for some rest. He was expected at practice with the knights in the morning he was told. Told he had to be there. It was another two days, two agonising days of waiting; before Merlin began looking any visibly better. His skin lost some of the horrible porcelain lustre, though the dark circles still blossomed under his eyes, like someone had physically punched him. Arthur made regular visits, every spare hour he had. He refused to get another, temporary manservant. He didn't think he could bear anyone actually doing as they were told, anyone who wasn't Merlin, serving him. He found himself laughing softly to himself at the realisation. It had been three weeks. Arthur looked up from polishing his sword himself, at a knock on the door. His entire boy tensed up before calling for them to enter. _What if it was Gwen or Gaius? What if something had happened to Merlin? What if he'd taken a turn for the worse? What if he was..._ Forcing down the panic that suddenly blossomed in his chest, he called for the person to enter, and Gwen slipped in, tired but grinning. The panic was quickly replaced by hope.

"Gwen?"

"He's awake Arthur! Asking for you" There were tears in her eyes as she beamed at him. Arthur leapt up, dropping the sword he had been polishing for training, and all but ran to Gaius's chambers.

"Merlin!" He all but bounded around the doorframe, his voice lit by hope and anticipation.

Merlin was lying in the same position as he'd last seen him. Flat out on the patient bed by the merrily roaring fire. Gaius was clutching his hand in both of his own, looking down at his ward with a warm smile on his face. The boy's frame was still pale and horribly thin, but his breathing was steady and his fingers curled around one of Gaius's own ever so slightly.

"Arthur's here, Merlin." Gaius spoke softly, his fingers tightening around the ones they held, and he smiled at the flustered, anxious form of the crown prince in the doorway. There was a groan and a hard chafing noise, like someone clearing a sore throat, before a weak voice croaked;

"'Thur?"

Arthur took four paces forwards and was at his side, falling back into his own chair. The blue eyes were weakly cracked open, surveying him with an unfocused gaze. They lit up with recognition, and his manservant gave a lopsided grin in his general direction.

"'ha'ks" he coughed; the sound rough and dry "'thur... Gai's tol' me wha 'append".

"How do you feel?" Athur found himself asking, taking the other pale, weak hand in his own. The fingers were soft and frail, the bones in them shifting to lightly clasp his hand back. Each finger thin and bony, cool against his warm hands, like that of a skeleton.

"Stu'ipd ques'ion" He coughed again and his lopsided grin grew; "doll'op-h'ed"

"What kind of word is 'dollop-head', I mean, really M_er_lin" He chuckled and drew out the 'er' of Merlin in the way he always did.

" Told 'yu it's id..." cough "idio" cough "matic..."

Arthur let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Idiot" He paused for a second, surveying the weak form of the warlock. _Warlock._ "Merlin..."

"Here, sit him up, and get him to drink this" Gaius handed him a cup of cool, clear water.

"Right" Arthur sat on the edge of the bed and slipped a careful arm behind Merlin's shoulder blades. Merlin made a weak noise of pain and protest, and Arthur froze.

"It's alright" Gaius smiled at him, and rested a hand behind Merlin's shoulder. Arthur nodded and lightly pulled Merlin up, bringing his arm round his back, and settling him against him chest. Merlin gave a long groan of pain, his eyes scrunching up, Arthur shot Gaius a glance, and the old man frowned slightly.

"Here, Merlin, try and drink this"

Gaius held the cup to Merlin's lips, and tipped it slightly so that his ward could drink. Merlin coughed and spluttered as the cool water slipped past his lips and hit his raw throat, and each cough wracked his fragile, bony frame. Arthur could feel his body shaking like a leaf is the wind as he held him, the bones in his back pressed against Arthur's chest, the skin around them tight and sallow. Arthur found his forehead resting on Merlin's shoulder as he did so.

Arthur could feel Merlin's body relaxing, and his breathing evening out.

"Gaius?"

"It's ok, he's just falling asleep again" The old man gave the boy a look filled with such fondness and love that Arthur suddenly felt like he was intruding terribly on them. Together, they lay Merlin back down, and Arthur sat with him all afternoon, until his father stormed in, and ranted about him missing training with the knights. Arthur suddenly had a strong urge to take a sword to whoever had told his father he'd not been there, as he had to leave.

With one last fond look at the sleeping Merlin, Arthur found his feet walking themselves back to his chambers, and felt his body collapsing onto his bed. With a long, drawn out sigh (he seemed to be doing a lot of sighing as of late) he closed his eyes and, without even bothering to change, fell sound asleep.

His dreams that night were easier, more peaceful, calmer.

**A.N: Why hello dear readers, Lenle G. here (surprise, surprise; it is my story). :D Hope you've liked this story do far, only the epilogue to go really now! If you do like it, then drop this little author-wanna-be a review, pleasies, so she can know whether or not to write more of this stuff? Thanks in advance and thanks for reading! **

**:D :D :D xxx**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Merlin was steadily improving.

It had been a long, long four weeks of bed confinement, then another two of having his movements restricted, being worried over and what felt to him like being coddled to death, until Merlin was finally allowed back to work.

Merlin woke early, a grin on his face, and clambered out of bed. He made his way quickly to the kitchens, to grab breakfast and then on to Arthur's chambers.

Arthur was sprawled on his bed. Hair golden in the soft morning light that filtered through the gaps in the curtains. His face was relaxed in sleep, calm and serene. Anyone would have found it a shame to wake him. Merlin grinned, striding over to the curtains, whistling obnoxiously and off key, and throwing them open.

He was rewarded by an annoyed groan from the bed.

"Merl'n?"

"Yup!" He grinned delighted. "I'm back!"

Arthur mumbled something into the pillow that sounded an awful lot like "God help me", though he raised his head and smiled sleepily as he heard Merlin's laughter ringing pure and clear, like a bell, from somewhere to the left of him.

"Time to get up lazy!" And he proceeded to all but drag Arthur out of bed by his leg. Soon they were laughing helplessly, sprawled across the floor, until Merlin dragged Arthur up and forced him into a chair. Not that Arthur would ever admit he was forced to do anything by his skinny manservant.

"Breakfast!"

"M_er_lin!" He moaned at the chirpy call (Merlin was always far too happy in the mornings, in his opinion), then turned and beamed at the raven-haired boy, "thankyou".

Merlin froze for a second, before collapsing into a limp pile on the floor.

Arthur's breath froze in his lungs, his eyes widened, and he leapt up from his chair, dashing to the side of his fallen manservant. _His friend. _His heart beat wildly against his ribcage, blood pounding in his ears. _Had Merlin had a relapse? Was he having a fit? Was he going to..._

"Merlin!" Arthur knelt by his side, extending a hand towards him, willing it to stop shaking "Merlin are you all right? Can you hear..."

He was broken off by the badly disguised sound of laughter spluttering from the form next to him of the floor. The laughter broke out into full fledged whoops of hilarity, as Merlin rolled around on the floor, laughing.

"Oh your face!" the boy wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, hooting with laughter.

"Merrrlin!" Athur growled "You nearly gave me a heart attack! What in the name of the King were you thinking? Why did you faint, you... you... idiot!"

"You... you..." Spluttered Merlin between laughs "said... thanks... so... I... pretended to... faint... in... shock!"

And a grin broke out of Arthur's scowling face. Did he really not thank his servant at all? He grinned, no, he supposed he didn't. Arthur made a mental note to _thank him more often._ He made to stand up, trying to keep a serious, angry facade up, but Merlin's laughter was infectious, and Arthur found he couldn't stay angry for long. Soon he was laughing every bit as much as his manservant.

His friend.

_His warlock._

If possible, Arthur's grin grew wider.

"So... Merlin...you're an all powerful magician-guy then?"

Merlin froze mid-laugh, and his servant's eyes became wide and round as pennies, before his jaw dropped and he began to splutter; "What... me... I...?"

"Yes, and now you're evidently all better, you have a nice, long list of chores that have piled up and are just waiting for you to get on and do them." And he strode away, leaving the spluttering, baffled warlock behind him.

Looks like Merlin would be alright after all.

He'd be around to bother Arthur for a long time yet.

Magic or no.

The crown prince of Camelot managed to startle four guards and creep out at least three servants as he strode through the castle. An obnoxiously large grin plastered across his face.

**A.N: Hiya peoples of teh internets! Thanks so much for reading! Lenle really appreciates it! :D**

**If you liked it so far please drop me a review! They're hugely appreciated! :D**

**I was going to end it here, but thanks to the persuasion of ****emenemdj****, I've decided to stick a couple more chappies on the end... extra ideas anyone? **

**Thanks again for reading!**

**xxx**


	7. Chapter 7

Extra chapter

He found him in the armory, head buried in his hands, taking deep breaths. Arthur's armor piled around him. Sparkling clean.

"Merlin..." Arthur slipped onto the bench next to him. His manservant flinched at the sound of his name and clutched the rag he'd used to polish the armor so tightly his knuckles white. His back was hunched, his head bowed, his hair hanging low over his eyes. Arthur hoped he wasn't crying.

"Aren't you going to execute me?"

"No." Arthur vaguely considered slinging a friendly arm around his shoulders. _He's my friend._ A small smile found its way onto his face. _Friend._

"Wha?" Merlin looked up, blue meeting shocked blue. His eyes were tired, red-rimmed and there were dark rings under them; he'd evidently been losing sleep over this. Arthur felt a sudden rush of horrible guilt. He should have set his mind at ease earlier. But this was the first time he'd got to see him. _Maybe Merlin had been avoiding him?_ The guilty feeling intensified.

"I'm not going to execute you." He clarified

"Why?" His voice was so soft; barely more than a whisper. A breath. A sigh.

"Who else would polish my armour, idiot." He gave him a friendly, manly punch on the arm, and found he was annoyed when Merlin flinched again. He rolled his eyes. Maybe the arm around his shoulders wasn't such a bad idea. "I don't think I could stand anyone who did as they were told acting as my manservant." And it was annoyingly true. Arthur had become so used to Merlin's scatter-brained manner that he'd actually miss it if it was gone. Miss his banter. Miss him...

"You really don't mind? About the... you know?" Merlin gestured wildly into thin air and Arthur let out an exasperated sigh.

"Magic."

"Yeah, the magic..."

"Of course not." And the arm was around his shoulders. "Idiot."

"Thanks..." Merlin wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. He looked up. Big blue eyes met his. Arthur became suddenly aware of their proximity. His arm had never moved away so fast.

And Merlin laughed.

Probably at his face lighting up and glowing red like a candle.

_But, _Arthur decided, _that smile was worth any amount of embarrassment._

A moment later the arm was back around his shoulders. Some might have called it a hug. But no. Arthur wouldn't do anything so... unmanly... it was just a... manly... gesture?

Merlin laughs again.

And Arthur's world feels complete.

././././././././.

**A/N: literally just realized I hadn't uploaded this extra chapter to stick on the end. Oopsies**

**Well, it's now as done as it's gonna be,**

**hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading!**

**Drop me a review if you enjoyed it.**

**Lenle G.**


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